


i don’t mind being a fool, as long as i’m your fool

by amadridlover



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Cristian Tello is mentioned briefly, M/M, because i want Cesc to be jealous so we see some more Fabsillas irl, because i want to see Iker make friends at Porto and be loved as much as he was at Real Madrid, my tags suck lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amadridlover/pseuds/amadridlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cesc sees a video of Iker and Cristian Tello during training. Cesc is jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don’t mind being a fool, as long as i’m your fool

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the photos Iker keeps posting on fb from training.

The thing that does it is seeing Iker patting him on the back in a video. You see, even though he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s jealous. And Cesc has never been one to wait things out.

-

“So, are you two fucking?” he says into the phone, his voice blunt and rude. There’s a moment’s silence and Cesc feels like that is all the confirmation he needs but a self-destructive curiosity keeps the phone to his ear, waiting for a response.

“What?” Iker stutters out. There’s noise in the background and Cesc bites the inside of his cheeks to calm down.

“I said, are you two fucking?”

Something crashes, and someone yells out. Cesc can’t hear everything but he hears Iker talking to someone, saying something. He wonders if it’s _him_.

A door shuts and the noise is gone.

“Cesc, what the actual fuck?” Iker sounds angry, Cesc knows the vein at his temple is probably throbbing and feels smug as he visualises Iker’s face going red—and puffy. Definitely puffy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cesc grits his teeth, his patience running thin. So he was going to play dumb, was he?

“I saw you,” he manages to get out, “with him.”

It was during training, _God,_ Iker had only been there three weeks, three weeks and he had already made a pass at someone. Cesc couldn’t believe it. After all they had been through, all the promises, all the sweet words, it had taken a move to Portugal and _three weeks_ to replace him.

He is fuming. Cesc checks to make sure smoke isn’t coming out his ears.

“You saw me with Cristian.” It’s not a question. _Cristian._ Cesc feels like he’s been hit in the gut with a baseball bat, stabbed in the heart with a butcher’s knife.

The abrupt sound of the dial tone hurts even more, even though Cesc is the one who hangs up.

-

So what he doesn’t expect is for his phone to start ringing straight away, before he’s had a chance to throw it away dramatically, probably breaking it, some kind of literature student’s wet-dream-of-a-metaphor for his broken heart. Cesc answers the phone, because to be honest, he is unprepared and while he was determined two seconds ago he’s really not sure how he feels now.

He is met with a, “did you really just hang up on me, you dicktwat?” and Cesc thinks that only Iker could come up with something like _dicktwat_ and actually use it at a time like this.

“I actually can’t believe you hung up, like, without even waiting to hear what I have to say.” Cesc never claimed to be the best on-the-spot thinker so he stays silent, wishing he had something smart to say back. He doesn’t.

Cesc’s head is starting to hurt and he wonders where he went wrong. They never call back in the movies. Couldn’t Iker just let him win, for once in his life? If he couldn’t have Iker, he’d like his dignity at least.

“Did you ever stop to think that just maybe you were wrong?” Iker asks, and Cesc is glad he sounds frustrated. He’s managed to fuck up Iker’s day at the very least.

Cesc gives a non-committed grunt, not wasting words on the man who has not only enlisted him for a year’s worth of misery but is apparently not content at leaving it at that, and has to continue tearing what is left of Cesc’s composure into tiny, tiny threads.

“Cesc, are you even listening?”

The _asshole._ How dare he be so condescending? Like all the time. He’s just _so_ perfect, he always has to be patronising. Cesc’s not a kid anymore.

And then Cesc nearly drops the phone. Because that’s just it. _He’s not a kid anymore._

Cesc laughs. It’s loud and bitter and it makes Iker go quiet on the other end.

“I’m too old.” The words come out slowly, like Cesc is testing them out, and it’s ironic. It’s ironic because he’s not old. It’s ironic because he’s the younger of the two of them. And yet, that’s not good enough. Iker doesn’t want him anymore because he’s too old. And all of a sudden it all makes sense.

 “Cesc?” Iker asks, uncertain. Maybe confused.

And Cesc feels angry, pissed, so mad that he wants to smash every breakable object around him into a thousand pieces and revel in the sound it makes as it crashes onto the tiled floor.

“So I’m too old for you, Iker? That’s it?! I can’t believe you. I seriously _can’t_ believe you.” And before Cesc knows it, he’s on a roll, and he can’t stop. “You are ditching me for some fucking underage? Jesus _fucking_ Christ Iker, would you look at yourself? It’s just _so_ hypocritical.”

Iker tries to say something but Cesc cuts him off. He’s pacing his lounge room, phone held in a tight grip.

“They get rid of you, and I sit there like an idiot: playing with your hair, holding your hand, wiping your _saintly_ _tears_ ,listening to you _rant_ and _cry_ about how you’re _not ready for your career to end_ and all that _shit,_ and you have time in the three weeks you’ve been at Porto to replace me? By fucking Tello?!”

“Cesc,” Iker says quietly exasperated, “shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is strained. Like he’s trying to keep it together. And Cesc hates him even more.

“Why Iker? Am I wrong?” Cesc asks him bitingly. “Please correct me again _oh captain_.”

“Cesc.” Iker’s voice is a warning.

“Just tell me one thing. It’s the one thing I don’t understand. Why did Tello choose you of all people? Is he that desperate for a sugar daddy?”

It’s cruel and unlike him and harsh. He knows it kills Iker, and he’s glad. Cesc’s body trembles with anger or hurt. Probably both.

“Will you just shut the fuck up for once in your _fucking life_ and listen to me?!”

Iker yells. It’s so loud and he swears for the second time that day and Cesc knows he’s really upset.

It takes Cesc by surprise—Iker’s tone is ice-cold and so mad—and his retort dies in his mouth.

“God Cesc, you don’t think do you?! You just have to assume the worst and you don’t let me explain myself, you just think you know everything. Fuck, here I am, telling you it’s not what you think and you won’t even listen to me, you won’t even believe me. After all these years, you don’t trust me?”

Cesc says nothing, unsure if the question is rhetorical. Iker takes it as a confirmation.

“Fuck you!” Iker says. His voice wavers. He’s disappointed. “Did you ever think that maybe I’ve been spending time with Tello not because I’m _fucking him_ but because I’m _helping him?_ That maybe there’s more to it than me cheating on you? But no, you’re just so self-centred! God, sorry to break it to you but not everything is about you. Did you ever think Tello might be having personal problems? And that maybe as the fucking _captain_ _of Spain_ I might be someone he can go to for advice? Or that maybe we’re friendsand friends talk when they need support? That we hang out?”

Cesc splutters as he tries to process what Iker has said. It comes out wrong, like a scoff.

Iker misunderstands.

“Is it such a foreign concept to you that someone might actually want to spend time with me just because they like me?” he asks, sadness filling his voice. “You used to.” It’s a parting shot, and Cesc feels like the bullet has been launched into his gut. He doubles over. Iker sounds small and vulnerable from a whole other country away— like he’s finally been broken. Like _Cesc_ has broken him.

Cesc’s mind starts to backtrack quickly and he has a mounting feeling of dread. Like _oh no,_ because just maybe Iker was right. Maybe Cesc had been too quick to judge the situation. And just maybe Cesc had read it all wrong.

He looks over at his laptop and can see the video, paused on Iker looking at Cristian, and suddenly it doesn’t look the same. Where Cesc had originally seen a look of heat he sees only a look of comfort. Iker’s mouth doesn’t seem to be pouting anymore, but rather, pressed together in worry. And Cristian, his smile back looks half-hearted, down. Cesc feel a wave of guilt wash over him. He feels like he can’t breathe.

Cesc knows he’s hurt Iker. He can tell by the quiet on the other end that it’s quite bad.

Iker had just been doing the right thing—helping out another teammate. Being a captain. Old habits die hard. He was just trying to be there for a friend. And Cesc completely lost it.

“Iker, I—“ Cesc begins, but he can’t find the right words. He’s never been good at apologising. He doesn’t know how to fix it. His mouth moves but no sound comes out. Iker’s waiting patiently on the other end, it’s how things go with them.

He doesn’t rush him.

“I miss you,” Cesc says at last, though it’s not what he wants to say at all. _I’m sorry._

“It’s okay,” Iker replies, because he’s Iker, and he _knows._

Cesc takes an unsteady breath. It all feels like too much sometimes, but that’s just a part of being _them_. They’re too much, too big—it’s inevitable that sometimes Cesc feels like he’s drowning.

He always resurfaces.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos are very much appreciated <333


End file.
